


nightmare public access show

by segmentcalled



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Camboy, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Capitalism, Communication, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Sex Work, Teasing, Twitch - Freeform, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Unexplored Unsettling Implications of Late-Stage Capitalism, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: Streaming on Twitch has never not been a wild ride. Streaming on Twitch now that it’s merged with like five other, uh,livestreamsites is an even wilder ride. For one, every single one of those jokes about feet not being allowed became obsolete, outdated within a matter of weeks.God.





	nightmare public access show

**Author's Note:**

> subtitle: the natural progression of capitalism
> 
> thanks to trigonometrical for a one-off line in a fic that sparked this whole au which they then enabled me to write. i hope you're happy
> 
> additional note: "sunset flip" came up in a google search of "gayest wrestling moves" and then pat tweeted about that very same move not all that long after i started this fic so what im saying is that i predicted the future but i hope that is the only sense in which i do with this fic

Streaming on Twitch has never not been a wild ride. Streaming on Twitch now that it’s merged with like five other, uh, _livestream_ sites is an even wilder ride. For one, every single one of those jokes about feet not being allowed became obsolete, outdated within a matter of weeks.

God.

Where, exactly, does a non-sexual channel that still makes copious amounts of piss jokes fit in the new rating scale? He doesn’t love the idea of PG-13, doesn’t love the concept of a bunch of kids watching him curse at video games and make inadvertent inappropriate slips of the tongue, he had that _mature audiences_ indication before, but now the R rating is, uh. Well, that’s definitely. Not what Pat’s going for. It would be nice if instead they would just be outright with it and said “click here if your channel is straight-up porn” and “everyone else proceed as before.”

So that’s a new and strange thing he has to contend with. The articles being published about the phenomenon are _wild_. In hindsight, it probably was not exactly the best idea to combine a toxic-at-best stomping ground for gamers with, well.

But it’s not like he’s bothered by it. He can block anyone who tries to be too forward in his chat. No, no matter _how_ many fuckin’ bits you pay him, he’s not taking his goddamn shirt off.

Brian seems to find this new media phenomenon an endless source of amusement. Pat’s fluster about it, mostly, but he also enjoys reading the articles their coworkers write aloud to Pat on lunch — especially the ones that are bound to make Pat blush all the way down to his toes — and animatedly discussing the ethics of such a thing, and going off in tandem with Simone and Jenna about how fucked up it is with the double-standards about sex work, and a thousand other things.

(He wonders if Brian still holds the same disdain for the platform now as he did when he dismissively told Pat he’d _definitely_ never subscribe to him, and then quickly tacked on — _not ‘cause of you, Pat, you’re the only good content on there. I refuse on principle to spend any money on Twitch dot TV._ And then he hates himself a little for wondering. But he just seems so interested in it, it’s hard to fight back that little twist of curiosity.)

Allegra bluntly refuses to join Thomas or Pat on their streams anymore — _dude no have you seen the way people get in chat on there now, it’s freaking messed up_ — and, well, fair enough. Pat can’t say he hasn’t noticed. It’s like, now this floodgate has broken and people think it’s okay to try to goad him into — whatever the fuck.

(Mike, bless him, has a heavy hand on the block button, and a well-organized automod function. Pat had glanced at the blacklisted words, the other night, and winced. He hopes most of that was automatically entered, or else _oof_.)

All this to say, Pat has never had a great sense of impulse control. He is, though, paranoid, and so he makes a new account from which to do his snooping. 

He’s _curious_, alright?

But a lot of it’s pretty boring. He sees a lot of disembodied dicks, but really he could just look between his goddamn legs if he wanted to see a dick.

(Okay, some of them are _not bad_, though. He’s gay. He’s not _immune_ to attractive men.)

He’s about to give up looking, though, and just get off and go to bed when he sees a name he’s curious about.

**NIGHTTIME PUBIC ACCESS SHOW**  
camboybrat - _87 viewers_

There’s something about the background in the thumbnail that looks… weirdly familiar. Which he’s probably imagining, but…

…

……

Holy fuck. It’s Brian.

His face is out of the shot, but he knows that man too well to not immediately know that it’s him.

(What the fuck is wrong with him? They’ve almost broken a million YouTube subscribers at work, someone’s going to fucking _recognize him_ in ten seconds flat!)

But there’s less than a hundred people watching, so maybe, statistically, it’s low enough that the overlap wouldn’t…?

Oh, he shouldn’t be watching this. He really, really shouldn’t be watching this. He’s got a view of Brian from shoulders to hairy thighs and he’s wearing fucking _lacy purple underwear_ and _not a scrap else_ and it’s Brian, it’s _absolutely_ Brian, no matter how he lowers his voice to soft breathy sultry Pat knows him, he _knows_ him. There’s a street sign on the wall of his bedroom, behind him. Pat’s seen it in real fucking life.

(Well. Not _fucking_ life.)

Pat’s going to scream or curse or moan or fucking _cry_ or _even worse_ say something in the chat — he can’t say something in the chat, he shouldn’t’ve put an underscore in _sunset_flip_, no one puts underscores in their usernames these days, what if he sees right through him, what if he knows it’s him?

Pat has never, ever, not once in his life felt more ashamed as he comes to the sound of Brian’s voice, the sight of his hard cock in those purple panties, the fucking _perfect_ lines of his torso —

Pat closes the window, clears his goddamn browser history for good measure, and slams his laptop shut.

_Fuck_.

He is not, he is _not_, he is _definitely not_ edgy and jumpy and nervous around Brian on Monday, no matter what Simone’s raised eyebrows telegraph.

“What’s your deal?” she says while they’re eating lunch.

“What are you talking about?” Pat says.

She gives him a look that says, _really, Patrick_.

He waves her off. “It’s nothing, I’ve just — uh, it’s a high anxiety day, I guess.” This is not, technically, a lie. He is very goddamn fucking anxious.

“Okay,” she says, unconvinced. “I hope it gets better,” she adds, more genuinely.

“Thank you,” Pat says. “Me too.”

It won’t.

He really, really shouldn’t keep checking _Twitch dot TV slash camboybrat_ to see if he’s live.

He really, really, really shouldn’t, he thinks, as he hits enter in the URL bar.

He’s live again.

Pat is going to die and go to _hell_.

Brian’s started reading off subscribers and thanking them personally. Just like Pat does.

(Does Brian watch Pat’s channel, too?)

He’s also taking _requests_.

He’s got a new idea, he explains. He’d like to see who can give him the best incentive to strip.

Pat doesn’t participate. He doesn’t say anything. He watches with bated breath (his cock in his hand) (_fuck_) as Brian unbuttons his shirt — _the shirt he was fucking wearing at work today, the same whole entire outfit_ — revealing a tight undershirt that clings to his pecs, his biceps — Jesus _Christ_, Pat didn’t have any idea before all this that Brian was built like that.

The panties are blue, this time, with little flowers; he was wearing them under the khakis Pat saw him wearing at _work_ just hours ago was he wearing those all _day_ —

He can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this.

He shuts it all down and closes his laptop, but he still jerks off — shamefully, _shamefully_ — before he falls asleep.

Mondays, Fridays and Saturdays. Not always, but most. The days Pat doesn’t stream. He’d swear it was intentional, if he wasn’t certain Brian doesn’t watch his channel.

He feels so guilty that he eventually — well, he.

Maybe it’s more than guilt, driving him to finally hit the subscribe button. Maybe he wants to hear Brian thank him in that thready voice, even if it’s not his name.

“Thanks for subbin’, sunset_flip. Hope you’re enjoying the show,” Brian says, and it’s _better_ than Pat imagined, just having that acknowledgement of himself. He never shows his whole face — plausible deniability, Pat can respect that — but he gets a glimpse, sometimes, of those red lips, of a toss of wavy brown hair. It’s one of those moments, now; he catches a flash of a smile.

It doesn’t, as Pat finds, even matter what Brian says. It’s the low timbre of his voice, the breathy quality of it, close to the mic; if Pat closes his eyes, he can almost imagine he’s here.

(If he closes his eyes, though, he can’t see the beautiful, perfect man on his screen.)

But of course it can’t last.

“Hey, Pat, wanna grab lunch?” Brian says, on his usual route past Pat’s desk.

“Sure,” Pat agrees, before he can think about it — and then he _does_ think about it, and regrets it immediately. Oh _god_ how is he going to face him for this long oh Christ oh fuck.

But Brian is perfectly normal, cavalier, perfect, amazing, as usual. He takes Pat’s breath away under the most mundane of circumstances, truthfully. His hair’s getting long again. When he turns that sweet crooked smile on Pat it makes his knees weak.

He’s going to fucking die, actually, almost definiely.

They’re halfway through a totally completely normal lunch when Brian tosses his hair and arches an eyebrow at Pat and says, “hey, so, we should pick _Gill & Gilbert_ up again.”

Pat nearly chokes on his drink. “What?”

“I think it would be fun!” Brian says. “I mean, if we can’t do it at work, we might as well do it on our own time. You’ve already got an audience, I mean, why not?”

“Isn’t, uh. Isn’t Twitch a little bit of a hellscape right now?” Pat hedges.

“You’re still on it,” Brian points out.

Well, that’s. That’s. Yeah. “True. What were you thinking of doing?”

“Same sort of thing? Maybe more of a fusion of the _Half-Life_ streams and what we used to do. More of a long-form play of the same game, rather than trying to figure out something new every week, y’know?”

“That does sound fun,” Pat concedes. “Do you have any, like, specific ideas?”

“We could always play more _Celeste_,” Brian jokes.

“If you make me eat one more pepperoni that is not attached to a pizza in my _life_ I’m never speaking to you again,” Pat says.

Brian laughs. “That’s fair, that’s fair. I didn’t have any big ideas, I dunno. I know you were talking about that _Monster Hunter_ stuff that’s coming out, maybe we could do some of that? If you don’t mind letting me absolute garbage at it on your account.”

Well. He can’t resist a chance to get someone into _Monster Hunter_ with him. “Yeah, sure, what the hell. Why not,” Pat says. “As long as Tara doesn’t murder us for taking that IP with us —”

“It’s got our literal names on it, it’s _fine_ —”

“Then let’s do it,” Pat says, and can’t even make himself regret it, not when Brian smiles.

He masters his self control, for the next few nights, and avoids watching Brian’s goddamn streams. If he thinks about them, that’s fine. That’s… unavoidable. (He can’t stop thinking about it, is the thing, because he’s an awful horny dumbass.) But he doesn’t watch.

And to be fair — after that first week, he’s managed normal. He’s — maybe more quiet, around Brian, than usual, maybe more nervous. Maybe that’s why Brian wants to do this. Maybe he senses something’s up with Pat, and wants to fix it. They’ve — they’ve been close, since the original _G&G_, but, well, Pat can admit he’s gone a little distant. Not even only because of this awful secret he’s keeping from Brian.

He just doesn’t know how to handle this. Any of it.

He’s been painfully, desperately into Brian for a truly embarrassing length of time. He was handling that, though. Badly, but he was. But this? This frankly horrifying lack of self-control on his part, where he can’t stop fucking _thinking_ about it, about Brian’s arms and thighs and (!!!) and his voice when it drops into sultry and how he _knows_ what his pecs look like now and how he must absolutely be wearing those shirts that are too fucking tight on his chest on _purpose_ and it’s killing Pat, slowly, awfully, and it’s all his very own goddamn fault because he can’t reign himself in and he just wants to wrap himself miserably in blankets and pine.

But no.

Brian David Gilbert, self-proclaimed camboy, self-proclaimed brat, to whom Pat’s paying twenty dollars a month to watch strip on Twitch three nights a week, safety fan and bureaucratic wunderkind, coworker and bane of Pat’s existence, is about to be in Pat’s bedroom for a _completely normal and safe-for-work stream_.

And he is going to put a _fucking lid on this shit, he swears to god_.

* * *

They don’t bill the first stream specifically as _Gill & Gilbert_, when it comes down to it, because they don’t want it to seem attached to Polygon. It’s on their own time, thank you very much. They lay that down, in the first few minutes: it’s not coming back to their work, so it’s theirs now. It might be regular, it might not. Don’t get too excited.

(Everyone gets way too excited.)

**GILL IS PUNCHIN’ SOME MONSTERS: FEAT. GILBERT**  
pizza_suplex - _540 viewers_

“Pat, I think it’s false advertising to say you’re punching monsters, when there’s clearly no punching-based combat in this game. Also, I hate your sword,” Brian says; he’s not looking at Pat, because he is frantically mashing buttons on the controller and staring at the screen, although he’s talking quite coolly.

(Pat knows now he can multitask quite — _shut up shut up shut up shut UP)_

“Artistic liberties,” Pat says, glib. “I don’t think video titles on Twitch count as advertisement, anyway.”

Brian dies for the third consecutive time in the game and yells _FUCK_ at it, which startles Pat so much that he bursts out laughing.

He’s hyperaware of _everything_. Their hands brush when Brian hands over the controller to Pat and he feels like a stupid romance novel protagonist for how much he fixates at the barest contact between them. He’s being such a fucking dumbass about this.

And of course since he’s aware of it, he keeps stumbling facefirst into saying awful shit — he swears he fucking blacks out for a second and then he’s talking about dinosaur asses and Brian’s _cackling_. And then Brian’s running through a cave and there’s one of those weird little pigs with the moss on their back and Pat says something like ‘look at that _hog’_ and he feels like maybe he needs someone to stand next to him with a spray bottle (or a baseball bat) for when he just _says this shit_. But it does, at least, make Brian laugh.

It is an hour and a half of pure, undiluted suffering. Like, extremely, extremely gay suffering. But not the fun kind! The kind where he just wants to go dissolve into a puddle of embarrassment. But Brian, at least, seems to be having fun. He laughs at Pat’s stupid jokes and he laughs whenever someone plays one of the awful soundbites and Pat doesn’t ever want him to stop smiling because he is so fucking lovely.

He’s still smiling, when they turn off the camera and shut everything down, except now it’s full-force on Pat.

“Enjoying your Twitch experience?” Pat says, thoughtlessly.

“I’d say so,” Brian says, cheerfully. “I’m really bad at that game.”

“You really are,” Pat agrees.

There’s a brief pause, and then they both speak at the same time:

“So do you want to keep doing this,” is what Pat says.

“I have a question for you,” is what Brian says.

“What?” they both say at the same time, and then laugh, and then Brian clarifies first.

“Question for you,” he says.

“Okay,” says Pat, and tries not to look scared.

“Is something going on? You’ve seemed… I dunno. Kind of distracted or something, lately. Like something’s bothering you,” Brian says.

Pat feels like he might have an anxiety attack _right this very second_. Adrenaline slams through his body in a horrific jolt. “Uh,” Pat says, eloquently.

Brian is studying him so hard that Pat is certain he must be giving something away. He lets the silence stretch out long and awkward, until Pat can hardly stand it and yet he still can’t think of any fucking thing to say, and then he leans towards Pat — just the smallest amount, just enough that probably if Pat wasn’t so awfully on edge he’d hardly even notice or care — but every muscle in Pat’s body is tensed and he jerks back almost entiely involuntarily.

Brian, because he’s not an asshole, backs away a full foot. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“No — I — fuck, don’t be,” Pat says, around the horrible tight knot in his chest. “It’s nothing you’ve done. I’m just being a dumbass, I’m sorry — I — it’s — I — I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what you’re apologizing for,” Brian murmurs.

Pat covers his face with his hands. He can’t look at him. He _can’t_. He wants to dive under his bed and live there like a miserable pile of bones.

“Pat?” He’s so fucking gentle, in his tone.

“Please don’t hate me,” Pat says, in the smallest voice possible. “I saw your channel. I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I’m so sorry.” He thinks maybe he will just hide here behind his hands and maybe then Brian will leave and, and, and —

“Oh,” Brian says, on a soft exhale. “That’s okay. It’s public, that’s bound to happen. I, uh. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. But I don’t mind that you saw it. It doesn’t bother me.”

“It doesn’t?” Pat says. He peeks at Brian through his fingers. Brian is looking at him, so fucking earnestly.

“Not at all,” Brian says. “Does it bother you? I mean. Fuck. Obviously, you’re upset —”

“I’m upset because I thought it’d bother you,” Pat says quietly.

“Oh,” Brian says again. And then, “Oh?”

Pat takes his hands off his face, but looks down and away, wraps his arms around his legs. He chews on his lip, fighting between what to say and what not to say.

“Pat,” Brian says quietly. “This might be a little presumptuous. But I promise your answer won’t upset me either way. And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But, uh, you wouldn’t happen to be so worked up about it because you, uh, seek it out, would you?”

Pat can’t read his tone. He can’t look up to look at his face. He squeezes his eyes closed and nods and waits for the blow to land.

It’s a blow that doesn’t come. Well, not in the way Pat is braced for, anyway.

“Really?” is what Brian says, in a way that Pat would classify as _delighted disbelief_, but that — that can’t possibly —

No, his expression matches the tone. His eyes are sparkling; he has a stunned sort of smile on his face.

So Pat, he, he chances, he can’t meet Brian’s eye but he says, desperately embarrassed, “I, uh, might’ve, possibly, maybe, felt so guilty about it that I subscribed.”

Brian gets a good laugh out of that; it makes Pat wants to hide his face in his hands again. He must be able to tell, because he quiets quickly and says, “Patrick, I’d do that for you for _free_ any day of the week.”

Pat’s eyes snap up to Brian’s face. _“What.”_

Brian stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Are you, like, the only person in the office who hasn’t noticed that I have the worst fucking crush on you, or what?”

_“What?”_

“What do you mean, what!”

“I’ve been into you for — for — like — _ages_,” Pat says.

“Oh my god,” Brian sighs. “We are so stupid.”

“We are so stupid,” Pat agrees, a little breathlessly. “Kiss me?”

Brian all but launches himself at Pat. He is on the other side of the bed and then he is pressing himself into Pat’s arms and kissing him, excited sweet fast little things before Pat can even find the brainpower to kiss him back. He holds Brian close — dear god he can actually _touch him now_ — he’s so warm and soft and he nearly knocks Pat backwards with enthusiasm. Pat makes the executive decision to go with it and lets Brian climb on top of him and push his hands into Pat’s hair and lick into his mouth. Pat clings to him, his arms tight around his waist, too caught up in the sheer gratitude of holding him to do more than barely keep up.

“You okay, Pat?” Brian says against his lips. Okay, maybe not even that, apparently.

“Just — a little overwhelmed,” Pat says quietly. “Not in a bad way. Little bit of emotional whiplash, there.” He takes the opportunity to push his face against Brian’s shoulder; Brian pets his hair and kisses his head. “I like you so much,” Pat says, muffled by Brian’s shirt. “I didn’t know what to do about it.”

“Probably telling me would’ve been a decent place to start,” Brian says, gently teasing.

“Consider: one, I’m awful at feelings. Two, I’m older than you, been at our job longer, and we’re coworkers. Three, uh, yeah.”

Brian snickers.

“Shut up, I’m realizing I’ve been having a crisis for months over nothing, give me a break!”

“I’m sorry,” Brian murmurs, placatingly, continuing to run his fingers through Pat’s hair. “For what it’s worth, you can cancel your subscription. And let me buy you dinner.”

Pat groans in despair, and Brian laughs.

“I’ll take off my clothes for you when-so-ever you would like,” Brian says. “Including, but not necessarily, nor limited to, right now.”

“Can you let me process my feelings for ten seconds please!”

“I’m sorry,” Brian says, and sounds like he genuinely feels bad.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m super — uh, super in favor of that concept but I am _a little overwhelmed_ and I think maybe I just want to cuddle for a little bit first?”

“Okay. I can do that,” Brian says. He kisses Pat’s temple, and Pat nuzzles his face against Brian’s chest.

“Hey. Question. How the fuck are you so hot,” Pat grumbles into Brian’s pecs. “It’s fuckin’ unfair.”

“Oh my god, Pat, I’ve been annoying everyone with the same question but about you for like _so long_. Your friggin’ — hair and beard and jawline, it’s ridiculous.”

“Stop it, you’re making me blush.”

“Ooh, I wanna see!” Brian says, and Pat all but perishes on the spot when Brian scoots back to cup Pat’s face in his hands and study him. “Yep. Certified gorgeous.”

“Stop it,” Pat whines, and hopes that he never will.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please do,” Pat says.

Brian approaches much more carefully, this time. He strokes his thumb over Pat’s cheek and does the, the whole, slow-almost-shy approach, with the air of a first kiss, closing his eyes and tilting his head a little. His lips are so soft against Pat’s, when they touch, and he lets Pat take the lead this time. He takes it explorative, leaning towards teasing. Kissing him, as it turns out, is just as good as he’d hoped it would be. He’s responsive without taking over, intuitive and quick to work out what makes Pat draw a sharp appreciative breath, and most of all he’s — he’s Brian, and he’s touching Pat, and he’s perfect, and it’s perfect.

In their moving around, Brian’s shirt has slipped up a few inches, just enough that Pat’s fingers brush against the skin of his lower back when he’s brave enough to move his hands. He pulls his hand away quickly, afraid of crossing a boundary, but Brian fumbles for it, grabs him by the wrist, and shoves his hand up under his shirt.

Well. Okay then.

Pat pushes his other hand under Brian’s shirt, for good measure, palms flat against his back to touch as much of him as he can at once. He’s warm and a little sweaty and he sighs when Pat gets his hands on him. He shifts to let Pat verifiably feel him up when he shows an interest to, to paw at his chest and soft belly and grab his hips and then slide his hands back up to rub his thumbs over his nipples. Brian makes a soft sort of whimper into Pat’s mouth, and he’d be more ashamed that it goes straight to his dick if Brian wasn’t already noticeably turned on, too.

“I, uh, if the offer’s still on the table,” Pat says, “I’m. Very into there being less clothing involved in the situation here.”

“Fuck yes,” Brian says, and pulls away to peel his shirt off. He has no self-consciousness — fair enough, Pat’s already seen near everything there is to see, and anyway he’s fucking gorgeous. He’s built like a dancer, lean and muscled but with density; his abs aren’t defined, but if Pat presses his fingers to his stomach he can feel the muscles there — Brian giggles and tells him that it tickles when he does that. Pat presses his lips to Brian’s collarbone before he sits back to take his shirt off, too.

He’s a bit more self-conscious, but the way Brian looks at him burns that away real quick. Brian touches him like he’s a precious thing, like he’s something to be treasured; he traces his fingers down Pat’s sternum, follows the arc of the base of his ribs with his thumbs, settles his hands at the faint dip of his waist to pull him in and kiss him.

Oh, god, when they’re pressed chest-to-chest, skin-on-skin, it’s better than _anything_.

(Okay, that’s not quite true. He can think of some things that could be even better still. But right now, at this moment, it feels very much like the best thing that’s ever happened to him.)

It’s better than _basically anything_, and Brian pushes Pat down again and gets on top of him to kiss him more. Pat is so — so fucking _happy_, to have this sweet wiggly furnace of a man pressed all up against him. He can run his hands over his back, over the points of his scapula and the dip of his spine and curl his hand around his hip and oh — _fuck_, he grinds against Pat and it sends Pat into a shivery gasp, fuck, he didn’t realize just exactly _how_ worked up he already is.

“What’re you up for tonight?” Brian asks, softly, and grazes his teeth over the side of Pat’s neck. Pat has to close his eyes and take a moment to compose himself before he can make words again.

“Any goddamn thing you want,” he says, and means it. Shit, he’d let Brian turn the camera on and fuck Pat for a goddamn _audience_, if that was what he wanted.

(Oh, _shit_, actually… no. No, that’s impossible, they have jobs that have made them something of _public figures_, no, certainly — certainly, uh, that idea can be tabled. Tabled, right. Dealt with later. No! Never. He definitely means never.)

“Mm,” Brian hums, and fucking licks Pat underneath his ear, and that shouldn’t feel as good as it does, Christ. “I could put my hand on your dick and list shit off and see which one you like best.”

“I think you’d just end up with me, like, rutting against your hand until I come,” Pat admits. “Which, not bad, on the whole, but not very romantic.”

“Oh! Are we getting romantic, Pat Gill?”

Pat blinks at him with alarm. “Are we — were we not — is that not —”

“I’m just teasing, oh no, I’m sorry! Definitely, definitely, _definitely_ romantic. Like, boyfriends romantic, if you’re into that?”

“Yes. Absolutely, yes,” Pat says, as a wave of relief crashes over him.

“Okay. Okay, good,” Brian says, looking equally relieved.

“What if, uh. What if we just kinda, took our clothes off and see where this progresses?”

“That works for me,” Brian says, grinning.

Pat would kiss every inch of Brian’s body, if he’d let him. His legs are great, his ass is amazing; Pat runs his hands up the backs of Brian’s thighs and grabs his ass and Brian makes a pleased sound in reply. He’s not wearing the silky underwear that is his normal fare on his streams; he’s got lavender boxer briefs with sharks on them instead, which is actually quite nearly as cute. Pat did not dress for the occasion; Brian does not seem to mind, because he slides his hands under the waistband of Pat’s underwear to feel up his glutes and that’s, yeah, alright, fuck yeah.

“I would love to fuck you,” Brian says, his fingers straying to places that make Pat draw a sharp gasp of arousal. “If such a thing was amenable to you. Or, honestly, whatever you want. I’m so down, Pat Gill. How d’you like it?

“I mean, whatever way, really,” Pat says, breathless.

“Got a preference tonight?”

“I mean, like, sure, I’m good with topping, but — _fuck — ah_ — I wanna get fucked so bad,” he says, his voice wobbling into a desperate whine as Brian teases at him with his fingers. He didn’t _mean_ to put the latter half of that statement that way but Brian seems to appreciate it, is looking at him hungrily, like he wants to take him _apart_.

“You got lube, Patrick Gill?”

“Top drawer.”

Brian gives an approving hum and rummages for it, returns quickly. “Oh, god, you’re beautiful, Pat, look at you,” he says softly.

He would say something intelligent and flirtatious back, if he had a functioning brain at the moment. Instead he says, “Do you really want to top?”

“Uh, _yeah_, of course I do,” Brian says, like it’s obvious. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t. You think just ‘cause I’m —” he gestures vaguely at himself “— that I’m a bottom? Pssh. I _love_ it any way you put it. And, please. There is no way in the _world_ that I’d pass this up. You’re beautiful. I’m gonna fuck you up so right, Patrick Gill, and that is a promise.”

Pat makes a quiet, desperate, wordless sound of want.

“Good to go, baby?” Brian says, and Pat nods emphatically.

He hefts Pat’s legs over his shoulders, propped up on one hand as he works his fingers deep inside him, spreading him open as he moans and writhes under the touch.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, you sound so good like this,” Brian murmurs. “Can’t wait till I get my cock in you.”

Pat whines and rocks against Brian’s fingers.

“Easy, baby, easy. You’re tight, honey, I gotta take my time with you. You don’t do this much, I bet.”

“Don’t like doing it on my own — _hah_ — feels so good, Brian, _fuck_ —” He curses as Brian adds another finger.

“You’re so good,” Brian says, soft and earnest. “Taking me so well.” He turns his head to kiss the side of Pat’s leg. “So beautiful. I love seeing you like this. Feel good, baby?”

“Yes, yes, _yes_,” Pat gasps, “please oh my god will you fuck me already I’m going to _die_.”

Brian laughs. “Needy,” he teases, but pulls his hand away and wait no wait come _back_, he _needs_ something inside him —

Brian kisses Pat’s knee. “Getting to it, baby. Promise,” he says.

“Can — I know I just said but — will you wash your hands first please,” Pat says. His voice sounds breathy and rough and it would be embarrassing if he wasn’t too turned on to be embarrassed. “My roommate’s not home, you don’t have to worry about running into him in the hall.”

“Okay. Be right back, I’ll be speedy,” Brian says, and dips in for a quick kiss before leaving the room. Pat lays still for a moment, trying to get his breathing to return to normal, before giving up on trying to chill out and instead sits up to search through his drawer for condoms, he swears he had some — yes, okay, good, thank god.

Brian returns appropriately speedily. He hops back up on the bed and kisses Pat again, just because he can, before returning to the task at hand. 

Pat has a fist clenched in Brian’s hair, his legs wrapped around him, panting and trying not to moan and whine and show his hand on how fucking needy he is, as Brian pushes into him. He is not winning the battle against himself, because it feels so _fucking_ good. Brian is careful with him, handling him like he’s precious, like he’s dear to him, like he’s worth taking his time with.

“God, you’re pretty when you’re desperate,” Brian says, like it’s a casual thing to say, like it’s not absolutely devastating in the best possible way. He runs his thumb along Pat’s sternum, like he just wants to touch him, to explore, to feel every part of him. Pat could fucking cry of it. He’s not used to this. Not used to being the center of anyone’s attention, not like this, not like having the brilliance of Brian turned thousand-watt full-force on him, explicitly to make him feel good as he’s physically capable of. Hasn’t had anything like this in a long, long time. 

Brian presses two fingertips to Pat’s lips and he opens his mouth to take them, to lick and suck as prettily as he can under the circumstances. Brian hums in approval and rocks his hips slowly, letting Pat get used to the feeling of him moving inside him. Pat curses — it comes out lisped around Brian’s fingers, and Brian laughs and pulls them away — and tries to take more of him, to make him move faster, to _something_.

“Easy, baby, I got you. I’m not gonna leave you wanting,” Brian says, gentle. “Does it feel good?”

Pat nods; he realizes his mouth is hanging open stupidly, and adds, breathlessly, _yeah_.

“Good,” Brian says, and then, “you want more?”

Another soft _yeah_ on an exhale, and Brian smiles.

“You’re so good for me, Pat Gill,” he says. There is a second of pause, a moment for that to land, and then it seems as though everything happens all at once.

Brian gets one hand into Pat’s hair, the other on the mattress propping himself up; Pat tracks the movement with his eyes and has just enough time to take in the fact that his fingernails are lavender and sparkly before Brian yanks his head back and jams their mouths together. Pat gasps as Brian thrusts into him, setting a pace harder and faster than Pat had expected. Pat moans and clutches at him, scrabbling for something to hang onto.

Brian’s whole body is in action, in motion; his mouth is on Pat’s face, his neck; his chest heaves with his breathing; Pat’s hands are on his back, which is a little sticky with sweat; with every rhythmic movement of his hips, his body and Pat’s move together. Impossible not to. It’s the closest two people can be — _fuck_ — and the thought makes Pat clench around Brian’s cock, just to feel him. This has the doubly satisfying effect of making Brian moan Pat’s name.

“Brian,” Pat breathes, just to have his name on his lips. “Brian, fuck, it feels so good, you feel so good, I love having you inside me,” he says, and he swears he’s not really one to talk during sex usually but he _needs_ him to know, he has to know how incredible he is, how desperately Pat has wanted this, how all he wants is to come with Brian’s cock inside him —

“Fuck,” Brian says appreciatively, “jeez, Pat, yes, okay,” and, yeah, he definitely said more of that aloud than he meant to, but he can’t bring himself to care. And once he’s started, he can’t stop — he’s heard Brian say so many absolutely _filthy_ things on stream, things that make Pat come into his hand gasping, shame abated for just a moment while he feels too good to think — and yet now that he has the chance to hear those words directed at him specifically, he doesn’t even give him a chance. 

“Please, please, Brian,” he says, god, he can’t believe he’s begging for him but it’s all he wants to do, “I need it, I need you, I think about your cock all the time, I watch you and listen to you and all I want is for you to fuck me, make me yours, I want everyone to fuckin’ know, please, please, _god_ you feel so good inside me it’s better than I ever fuckin’ dreamed, _ah — fuck_ — please — _Brian_ —”

Brian wraps his hand around Pat’s cock and it drives all the words out of him at once. He breaks off into a sort of whine that he doesn’t even have the fortitude to be embarrassed by. 

“You’re mine, Patrick Gill,” Brian growls, next to his ear, “I’ll let the whole goddamn world know, if you let me. I want your bruises all up my chest so everyone knows that you’re precious to me, that you and you alone get to mark me up. I’ll fuck you any way you want, baby boy —” fuck, it’s wild how Pat keens at that, “— you like that, huh? You like being my sweet pretty thing, don’t you? You like being full of my cock, taking me so well, letting me do all the things I want to you. You’re so good, baby, you feel amazing. I can’t wait to see your face when you come. Show me, baby boy. Show me how good you can be.”

The sound Pat makes is a punched-out rush of air, halfway to a sob, as he ruts up into Brian’s palm, as Brian doesn’t let up his pace, as Brian bites down against the juncture of shoulder and neck, as the white-hot flame of pleasure licks through his body.

Brian is breathing hard, as he settles against Pat’s chest, after. Pat is, too; he strokes Brian’s hair and closes his eyes and sighs, content and sleepy in the afterglow.

“Fuck, Pat, that was incredible. You’re incredible,” Brian says, and tilts his head to kiss Pat’s chin. Pat gives a soft, satisfied sort of hum. Brian sits back to look at him, strokes Pat’s hip affectionately.

“I can grab a washcloth if you wanna just chill? If you let me know where they are,” Brian says.

“You’re the _best_,” Pat says, because he’s already half-decided that he intends to become one with the blankets and never move again.

Brian laughs. “I try to be a considerate top.” He winks. “Especially for you, pretty boy.”

Pat feels his face heat up at the term of endearment; Brian looks pleased. “I, uh. Closet in the hall, across from the bathroom,” Pat says. “You don’t have to, though, I mean, I can get up —”

“Shush. I’m going and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” He’s already standing; Pat reaches after him, to keep touching him as long as possible.

“Who even says that,” Pat says after him. Brian grins at him over his shoulder.

“Me, apparently,” he says as he leaves the room. Pat hears the closet door open. “Hey, am I staying over?” he asks from the hallway.

“Fuck yes.” Who gives a fuck if Brian has to borrow clothes from him for tomorrow, or if they show up to work suspiciously at the same time. It doesn’t matter, so long as Pat can hold him close tonight.

Brian reappears in a few moments, smiling. “Good. I hoped so. Let’s clean you up so we can cuddle.”

Pat steals a kiss, before he can even touch the washcloth to his skin, just because he _can_. He marvels at it, revels in it. Brian’s touch is gentle, and his expression is even more so.

Pat is absolutely, positively head over heels for him.

* * *

Two-forty AM that Friday night, Brian curls against him and whispers, “Tell me your worst fantasy.”

It must be because he was about to fall asleep, because Pat doesn’t even hesitate before he says, “You fucking me on stream. Make me fall apart for an audience.”

And then he’s suddenly very fucking awake, because oh _god fucking dammit_ he didn’t mean to say that aloud. They haven’t even talked about Brian’s streams yet, haven’t had the conversation of how that’s going to work —

Well, guess it might as well happen now.

“Really?” Brian says, in a tone along the lines of _excited disbelief_.

“‘s stupid,” Pat mumbles. “Can’t show my face, besides.” Wait, fuck, that’s not his objection — that _shouldn’t_ be his objection —

Brian’s fingers trace over Pat’s chin, hold him still. “If you shaved and we blindfolded you, that could work,” he murmurs. “Or if you’re not into blindfolds, I bet we could find a creative angle. Camera above and behind you, keep your head out of the frame, lower level than my face, angled so everyone can see my cock inside you… I bet we could manage it, if you wanted to give it a shot.”

Pat takes Brian’s other hand and guides it to his crotch, where his dick is already showing interest in the concept. He sees Brian smile in the dim light.

“Didn’t know you’d be into that sort of thing, for yourself,” Brian says.

“It’s — it’s hot,” Pat confesses. “I, uh. Since we’re on the subject. How are you — I mean — do you think you’ll — what are you going to do about —“

“My streams?”

Pat drapes his arm over his face in embarrassment of his own stuttering. “Yeah.”

“Are you comfortable with me continuing? Move your arm, baby, I wanna see your face. I don’t want you lying to me.”

“I think I am,” Pat says, thoughtfully, “okay with it, I mean. But, if you don’t mind — I , uh. If it’s okay with you, I’d like there to be some sign that you’re mine. If you’re alright with that. I think that would, uh. Would really make it good. For, um. Me, I guess.” A nervous, awkward laugh.

“Ooh, _yes_,” Brian says, and he’s really grinning now. “Oh, you should mark me up good, Pat Gill. Maybe we can look into jewelry, bracelet or necklace or something — or, fuck, a collar, we could engrave the tag — you are so full of good ideas, Pat, holy shit, that’s a _great_ concept.”

“Really?” He’s stunned that Brian would agree so easily. “What if your viewers don’t like it?”

“They can go to hell,” Brian sniffs, faux-haughty. “I don’t do it for the cash, I do it ‘cause I get off on it. And being _yours_ for everyone to see? Absolutely fuck yes. I love that.”

“Me too,” Pat admits, a little shy, and Brian kisses him.

“You are so sweet. Let’s figure out how to work this, okay?”

“Okay.”

They settle on a few points. Brian’s usually too busy to make all of the days he’s laid out on his streaming schedule anyway, and now that they fully intend to spend as much time with each other as they can, that narrows the time slots further. Brian decides he’ll keep his Monday spot, and try to make that as often as he’s up for it, and anything else he might do on top of that is a bonus. It’s kind of amusing, objectively, Pat thinks; they’re both buck-naked in his bed, huddled around the calendar app on Brian’s phone, working out streaming schedules at nearly three in the morning.

Pat drops a kiss on the back of Brian’s shoulder, and Brian gives a soft laugh, turns his head to kiss Pat’s cheek.

“Getting distracted, baby?” Brian says.

“Maybe a little. You’re pretty. Can’t help it,” Pat says, and nuzzles his face against Brian’s hair, drapes his arm over Brian’s back. “Also it’s late and I’m very sleepy.”

“You’re cute,” Brian says, snuggling closer against Pat. “Do you think you’d want to hop on one of these streams? Be on it with me?”

Pat hesitates a moment, and then figures he’s already shown his hand here, so he says, “I sort of had another idea, actually.”

“Oh?” Brian says, eyebrows raised, interest immediately piqued.

“I, uh, I made that side account, right? I feel like I’d be kind of nervous to go on your channel, since you’ve got, like, followers now. And obviously we couldn’t go on mine, ‘cause — no way. No sex on pizza underscore suplex. But also — okay, you’re going to laugh at me — and you’re free to say no to any of this, of course — but I think it’d be really fun to try and do a stream of the playing-video-games genre, but with, uh.” His face is burning, but he pushes through to the end of the sentence: “Maybe with you out of frame sucking my dick and I have to try and keep streaming no matter what?”

“Holy shit, Pat, that’s hot as _fuck_,” Brian breathes.

“Oh thank god,” Pat says, and Brian laughs.

“I love that, of course I do. Dunno if I made it clear enough yet, but I fucking love sucking your dick, okay? I’d absolutely get under your desk and just hold your cock in my mouth, keep you there ‘till you get hard, go _so_ fucking slow until you can hardly make a sentence — _oho_, you do like that, don’t you?” Brian says, a little too smug at Pat’s obvious reaction. He drops his phone on the sheets and nudges at Pat to get him on his back. “Want me to give you a demonstration?” 

“Oh my god,” Pat says.

“Would you like it if I promo’d that stream on my channel? Just mentioned it at the end of one of my streams, and then you’d have at least a couple people guaranteed to stop by? Since I doubt you’ve got any followers on that side account.”

“That’d be really good,” Pat says.

“Mm. I’m glad. We can decide when to do that when we’re more awake. Can I blow you, please?”

“Fuck yes,” Pat says. Brian grins as he slides down Pat’s body, with no preamble, and kisses the head of Pat’s cock. Pat twitches at even just the one touch; he outright moans when Brian dips his head and drags his tongue over the length of him. Pat tilts his head back, threads his hands into his own hair, and tries his damndest not to buck up against Brian as he takes him into his mouth. He has a gift, truly he does, and maybe Pat’s just sleepy and horny and needy but _fuck_ it feels good. 

He doesn’t last long before he’s gasping out a warning to Brian and Brian works him through it sweet and eager, then gets up over Pat and jerks himself off into Pat’s open mouth and it’s so wonderful Pat could die of it even though he thus has to haul himself back out of bed to wash his face and deal with his giggly boyfriend. Brian licks Pat’s cheek, because he’s gross, and Pat grimaces at him and drags the back of his hand over his face and drags Brian off to the bathroom because if Pat has to get up, so does he.

They have the apartment to themselves, the next day, which means Brian wanders around Pat’s apartment shirtless and pulls him into slow lascivious kisses at the slightest whim. It also means they lay tangled up together on the couch with a laptop reviewing Twitch bios and editing as necessary. Brian clearly put a _lot_ of thought into his rules section, everything worded carefully; they copy/paste a lot of it onto Pat’s secret sneaky side channel.

“What’s ‘sunset flip’ refer to, anyway?”

“It’s a wrestling move,” Pat mumbles, and Brian laughs.

“You predictable dork,” he says, quite happily, and Pat sighs. Brian tilts his head back to kiss whatever part of Pat he can get to — the side of his chin, apparently.

There’s some fun clauses that Brian has included in the rules on his channel, like _don’t record or repost my videos elsewhere_ and _please respect my decision to remain anonymous and don’t try to uncover my identity_ and _I’m not taking my dick out so stop asking_ and _breaking any of the rules will get you banned so goddamn hard do not even test me_.

This does not do very much to assuage Pat’s nervousness. Brian pats his arm when he voices this concern.

“It’s totally gonna be fine, Pat. Promise. Plus, far as anyone can see it’s just gonna be some dude playing video games, you’re not even getting naked or anything. If someone recognizes your voice — which they won’t — but in the event that happened it’d just be like, wow this guy sure is playing a _Dark Soul_ or whatever.”

“I’m not playing _Dark Souls_ for this.”

“What, you need something sexier?”

“Maybe something I’m, uh, _not_ playing on my main?”

Brian hums thoughtfully. He sets the laptop down on the floor and reaches back to wrap his arms around Pat, then rethinks part of the setup and grabs Pat’s hand and puts it firmly on his crotch, then resumes his position.

“Subtle,” Pat says, and revels in the way Brian arches up to meet him when he squeezes him through his jeans. It’s insanely gratifying, to feel the response under his hand, to feel him get hard as he touches him. Brian’s a little showy, as a rule, and the little huffs and whimpers are so fucking lovely even if they might be a little put on.

Brian keeps his hands firmly at the back of Pat’s neck, but discovers that he can twine his fingers into Pat’s hair and when he pulls it makes Pat groan.

Pat’s half decided to shove his hand down Brian’s pants when Brian suddenly jerks up into a sitting position and flips around to face Pat and yelps, “I got it!”

“What the fuck have you got?” Pat says, thoroughly startled, and then has to wait out Brian’s laughter.

“_Shadow of the Colossus_,” Brian says.

Pat bites his lip. Raises his eyebrows. Gives him a suspicious look.

“I won’t make you carry me this time, promise. I just think it’d be a good reprise,” Brian says.

“So you _were_ horny for it.”

“Shut _uuuup_,” Brian whines.

“Babe, it’s not like that’s a secret. Your whole _character_ changed the second you realized I could lift you.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Brian huffs. “I think you were into it too, mister.” He pokes Pat in the chest.

“It’s no secret I’m horny for wrestling moves,” Pat points out mildly, which makes Brian laugh again. He takes both Pat’s hands in his, kisses his palms, then transfers his wrists to one hand and pulls them back above Pat’s head, holds them down against the armrest. Pat, theoretically, should be more embarrassed by the way that makes his breath catch.

“Pinned ya,” Brian says, and kisses him slow and filthy. Pat rocks his hips up to meet him and Brian pushes his wrists down harder. He’s already breathing hard, rutting against Brian, from casually turned on to desperate way too fucking fast. “Wow, you are so into this, huh?”

“Shut up,” Pat whines, trying his damndest to get the friction he so desperately needs _no what Brian why are you moving away_ —

Brian has his knees on either side of Pat’s legs, one hand pinning Pat’s hand behind his head, and one hand flat on the center of Pat’s chest. He can’t even imagine what kind of face he must be making, but judging from the way Brian’s looking at him in the intersection of _smug_ and _turned on_, it’s definitely something.

“Gosh, you’re pretty,” Brian says. “Let me take you to bed.”

“Okay,” Pat says, breathless, amazed, and follows Brian back to his bedroom.

* * *

Monday night is for announcing a new schedule on Brian’s channel, for Pat to curl up on his bed with his laptop and admire the hickeys he left on his chest, vicious dark bruises from when Pat had pushed him down and yanked his head back by his hair and climbed on top of him to get his mouth on those fucking gorgeous pecs of his. It’s for Brian to mention he’s guesting on a different channel that Friday night, so come hang out. It’s for Pat to call Brian, after he’s signed off, and learn that he is unsurprisingly gifted at phone sex too, because of course he is. Of course he is.

Wednesday night is for _Gill & Gilbert: BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE DRAGONS,_ where Brian discovers the hunting horn in the game and is _unrelentingly delighted_ by it, and Pat is deeply charmed. Brian stays over again, that night, because the first thing he does once the cameras are off and the computer is shut down is tackle Pat and kiss him senseless.

Friday night is for a debut stream on Twitch dot TV slash sunset underscore flip, the culmination of the mounting nerves and anticipation that have been building in Pat’s gut all week.

**SUCKING AT VIDEO GAMES W/G&G**  
sunset_flip - _24 viewers_

Brian had made the joke first and Pat had nearly keeled over laughing so of course they went with it, because they’re both equally the worst.

Pat hasn’t touched _Shadow of the Colossus_ since the last time he played it on a stream, and although he’d won their little meta-game he definitely had done so on a technicality, because Brian was too flustered and forgot that the pause button existed. Not, of course, not that he was going to point this out to Brian at any point, because he does like to maintain his reputation as someone who is good at video games.

Not that this reputation has any real meaning, but a guy can be a little vain every once in a while, alright.

They went straight from work to Pat’s, to test camera angles again even though they’ve made sure a zillion times that there’s no way unless he was _trying_ that Pat could get his whole face on camera and for Brian to shove at Pat and tell him to go shave and maybe put your hair up and will you ever make your bed for once in your life, jeez, Pat Gill!

“I swear no one will even recognize your room if you spend like two minutes tidying it before you turn the camera on.”

“Maybe that was my intent all along, to make sure I could fix it up to look unrecognizable by putting in the bare minimum effort,” Pat says. He fluffs the pillows so it doesn’t look like he was cuddling up into them while he slept and flips the comforter over to show the side with the stripes instead of the plain blue. Sneaky. Kind of. Not really.

Brian has a pillow, a water bottle, no clothes, and a smirk as he disappears beneath Pat’s desk.

“Leave your pants on,” Brian says. “We’re gonna take this real slow.”

“Oh, god,” Pat says, trying to grouch about it but missing the tone entirely. Brian snickers. Pat would pout, but Brian can’t see his face so there’s no point. “You comfortable?”

“Yep!” Brian chirps. They may, possibly, perhaps, have tested the setup (without going live) in advance a few days ago, and all that’s done is make Pat more excited.

Brian curls up against Pat’s legs, once he’s sitting, his chin resting on Pat’s thigh. Pat runs his fingers through Brian’s hair and Brian headbutts his hand.

“Good luck, baby boy,” Brian says, and kisses Pat’s palm, and then it’s showtime.

Pat’s not used to having his hair back, and keeps subconsciously going to run his hands through it — he wonders if Brian suggested that on purpose, now that he thinks of it, another way to keep him on edge. He talks at the microphone. The lower half of his face is visible, his shoulders and upper arms too, in a plain black tank top. Basically: the features he knows he’s got something good going on with. Can’t say he and Brian don’t know how to frame a shot.

The tags on new Twitch are interesting too. He’s got _English, Shadow of the Colossus, LGBTQIA+_, but also, like, _M/M_, and _Blowjobs_, and _No On-Screen Nudity_ and so forth. Brian had remarked that it sure got a whole lot more like a fanfiction website after the merge, “except with more feet,” and Pat groaned and put his head down on the desk.

He’s used to the beginning part of this, at least, and even though he’s incredibly aware of Brian pressed against his legs, he rambles through some stuff like _hey gonna play some_ SotC _and stuff don’t be a fuckin’ weirdo this is pretty much just a chill gaming stream with some, uh, additional offscreen content, you’re not gonna see anything more than this_.

To be honest: he likes the system, of disclosing what’s going on so people can be aware and not hang out if they don’t want to be voyeurs of Pat slowly falling apart over the course of an evening. Likes the fact that, hey, everyone’s a willing participant here. They chose this, actively, and so did he.

Brian’s hands are hot, even over his jeans, resting lightly on Pat’s thighs. Pat doesn’t mind leaving stretches of quiet, because to be honest he doesn’t want _that_ much of his voice out there, and also it’s a new audience, all names he doesn’t recognize, and that’s always a little daunting. He knows his regulars, on main, the people who consistently drop bits or tips.

It seems like the _bits_ and _tips_ both have more of a double meaning, over here, considering that he’s not live for five minutes before someone sends a tip in real money even and someone in the chat is already talking about their own personal, uh, bits.

“Man, I said don’t be weird,” Pat says, and is grateful that the person in chat says _sorry_ and cuts it out.

And then it’s refreshingly normal, _sans_ weird soundboard clips, _avec_ Brian carefully undoing his fly with nimble fingers, not even putting any pressure on him, trying to keep him from getting too hard too soon.

He’s just hopped onto the bird beast when Brian nudges at him to lift his hips so he can get his pants off. He tries to move without jostling himself in the frame too much. Falls right off the goddamn thing in the game in the process and hisses _fuck_ under his breath and Brian takes that opportunity to run his fingers featherlight over the length of Pat’s cock, making Pat draw a sharp breath.

He keeps it chill though, he _does_, he just gets back into complaining about how he has to swim all the way the fuck back over to where he just was.

“Gotta shoot more arrows into this — _shit!_ — into this poor fuckin’ bird,” Pat says. Brian’s mouth is gentle, hot and wet and Pat twitches with his whole body when he delicately closes his mouth around him and curses as he misses another shot. Boy oh boy he is _not_ doing a great job of keeping this on lock, and he forces himself to take another deep breath and settle down a little and actually hit his mark.

Brian stays so _very_ fucking still. This is merciful, at first, because it means that Pat can compose himself, get back into his dumb video game banter with himself and the people offering elite gamer tipz in the chat. They’re still under fifty viewers but _wow_ that’s almost fifty people witnessing this, witnessing the painfully slow deconstruction of Patrick Gill.

He’s done fighting the bird before Brian so much as _moves_, does anything more than just hold him quietly in his mouth and breathe around him. And it’s still so calculated, just resettling, just changing his position and wrapping his hands around Pat’s ankles and adjusting with a faint sound of suction how Pat’s cock rests on his tongue. Pat is so fully attuned to him, now, that he shivers at the sensation, applies the kinetic energy to the force with which he slams the button to select the next boss to fight.

Big weird horse thing, this time. He’s done this before. He knows how to play this game, even if he hasn’t touched it in well over a year. His body, though, is so tense and keyed-up that he goddamn well spasms if Brian does anything more actionable than shift a little. But he can handle that, sure, at least until Brian bobs his head a little and Pat makes a quiet sound sort of like _ghh_ and tries to cover it by clearing his throat and even though he can’t see Brian’s face he knows exactly how his eyes must be alight with amusement.

God, he’d like to kiss him.

Brian has a damn good sense of pacing. In comedy, in conversation, in cocksucking. Which means that as soon as Pat gives that audible response, he’s done waiting around. His hands move off his ankles to his inner thighs, holding his legs apart as he presses hot slow kisses along his cock — a smart move because Pat’s immediate reaction is to jerk against him because he’s fucking _jumpy_, he’s just like that all the time, literally only yesterday he almost kneed Brian in the goddamn face.

Brian makes an awful lot of noise down there, as if somehow Pat would forget about him if he wasn’t humming and moaning and gasping and sucking at full performance volume. He wonders if any of it is getting picked up by the mic. He wouldn’t be surprised; it can catch Charles purring, after all, and at least in the moment this feels far louder.

He chews on his lip and takes a deep breath. He’s gonna keep playing. He’s gonna, damn it, and he’s not going to moan on camera and he’s not going to make any more sign that Brian’s working him _so right_ and _fuck!_

He falls off the thing _again_ and has to start over because his hands are fucking shaking, everything Brian is doing feels _so_ good and oh fuck oh shit oh fuck oh _god_ —

Pat drops the controller on his desk, elbows on the desk, head in hands, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. He can’t, he, fuck, he can’t even pretend anymore, all he can do is gasp for breath and thrust quickly, shallowly, fuck Brian’s mouth as he works him furiously, clench his teeth around the grunts of effort he can’t silence himself from making, until with a strangled sort of sound he comes down Brian’s throat and Brian just takes it, eases him through it like a fuckin’ pro with soft tongue and gentle hands and pulls away slowly as Pat clutches the edge of the desk and catches his breath and settles back into the seat.

“Right,” he says, breathless. “Uh. Yeah Thanks for watching, y’all. Tune in… sometime, we’ll let you know if and/or when we do this again. Appreciate you guys. Thank you. Good night.”

He shuts off the camera with no more fanfare, closes out the stream and shuts down the computer; Brian launches himself up into Pat’s lap and hugs him tight. Pat wraps an arm around his waist and closes his laptop with his free hand, then pulls him close and pushes his face against the side of his neck and breathes him in.

“Was it good? Was I good? Did you do good?” Brian says. Pat, sex-drunk, is too fixated on the feel of Brian’s skin against his cheek, under his hands, to reply for a good long second.

“Yeah, baby, you’re perfect,” he murmurs against him, finally, and Brian wiggles happily.

“Oh _good_ I’m so glad! Can I get off too?”

“Shit, yeah, of course,” Pat says, having forgotten wholesale. Brian must figure this, because he laughs as he sits back to give Pat room to take off his shirt and take his hair out of the sloppy ponytail.

Pat kisses him, with all the heat he’d wanted to with the camera on, and wraps his hand around Brian’s cock and jerks him off while he’s in Pat’s lap. He comes all over Pat’s front in hardly any time at all — flattering — and for a couple lovely seconds he can’t even bring himself to give a shit about the mess.

He’s too busy cupping Brian’s face in his hand, their lips just barely touching, Brian exhaling hot breaths against his mouth, eyes closed. He is so beautiful it almost hurts.

“I love you,” Pat says quietly, without thinking, and Brian’s eyes flutter open in surprise, and Pat’s about to slam the brakes and backtrack real fucking hard but Brian smiles and takes Pat’s face in his hands and kisses him slow and sweet.

“I love you too, Pat Gill,” he says. Pat feels more than sees him smile, and he steals another too-toothy kiss before they’re both grinning too hard to smooch. “Let’s go clean up and review, yeah?”

“My review is: hundred out of ten, loved it, would absolutely do again,” Pat says, and Brian laughs.

“Gosh, I hoped you’d say that. You know, if you ever wanted a bigger audience, I’m just saying: _brat_ is also a combination of both our names. I think my channel could work for us.”

Pat groans, only so he doesn’t laugh, and Brian pats his cheek. “You’re such a dork. I bet you just want me there for audience retention. How come I like you so bad.”

“‘Cause you’re a big gay fool. Come _onnn_, I can’t hug you properly, you’re all gross.”

“Whose fault is that!”

“We could debate that one all night, Pat,” Brian says, standing and holding a hand out for Pat. “But I’d say it’s probably an even split.”

Pat laughs, and takes his hand, allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Brian bounces up to kiss his nose.

“I love youuu,” he singsongs, which is so cute that Pat almost forgets how to breathe for a second.

He pulls Brian into a kiss, whispers it right back against his lips, lingers for just a second —

“_Eww_, ew ew ew, now I’ve got my own jizz all over me, gross, Pat, come _on!”_ Brian says, and scampers.

Pat sighs, with all the fondness in his heart, and follows.

(Dear god, there’s not a single place he wouldn’t go to follow this brilliant, beautiful man, with his wild ideas and wilder shenanigans, who somehow loves Pat right back, who holds him so fucking tight and grateful, that night and every other.)

**Author's Note:**

> with great love and appreciation to everyone who i yell with about these dorks on a regular or irregular basis
> 
> twitter @segmentcalled / comment letting me know if you req! / i will of course as always not post/delete your comment if you ask!
> 
> comments and kudos mean the world to me! ♥


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